Getting Married Today
by slackerD
Summary: Rachel has cold feet.


**Title:** Getting Married Today  
><strong>Author:<strong> slacker_d  
><strong>Crossover:<strong> Company/glee  
><strong>PairingCharacters:** Rachel/Quinn  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Rachel has cold feet.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~1,500  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> For the 1st act of Company, none for glee  
><strong>AN:** Unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.

On the morning of Rachel and Quinn's wedding, they sit down to breakfast with Santana, Quinn's maid of honor.

All morning Rachel has been dramatically freaking out. If Quinn wasn't already used to Rachel's craziness, she'd be worried.

And maybe she's a _little_ worried.

Quinn and Santana quietly chat, trying to include Rachel, but she just brushes them off. During the meal, the brunette gets up several times and wanders around the apartment. The other two stand and attempt to discretely follow her; it doesn't seem to help. Santana finally convinces Quinn to leave Rachel be for the moment and so the three of them sit in silence.

After about five minutes of silence, Quinn decides to try again. "Rachel."

"Quinn, please don't start," Rachel replies. "I'm finding it extremely difficult to think, especially with the two of you following me everywhere; from the bathroom to the bedroom to the kitchen. I feel like I'm leading a parade." Rachel turns in her chair, facing away from the table.

Quinn nods and smiles at her bride to be as Santana takes a sip of her coffee.

"Quinn, stop staring," Rachel says. "I feel it like _bullets_ through my back. No, please." Rachel jumps up and attempts to block herself from Quinn's gaze. That doesn't seem to help and so she goes to the fridge. "I'm so crazy, I left the refrigerator open last night, so the orange juice is hot." She, nonetheless, pours it into three glasses. She sets two of the glasses on the table. "And if you say thank you, I will go running out of here, screaming and check myself into the loony bin at Bellevue. Don't talk. Please."

Quinn just nods. Rachel stares at the blonde's smile for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. You say whatever you want. Who am _I_ to tell _you_ what to do?"

Quinn smiles as she drinks. "The orange juice is hot. But thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous, Quinn! You don't thank a person for hot orange juice. You throw it in their face." Sighing, Rachel sits back in her chair. "And I've ruined the toast."

"It's okay, Rach," Quinn tells her.

"It certainly is not okay! It doesn't even remotely resemble being okay! In fact, it's the opposite of okay!"

Silence falls over the kitchen.

"You see, Santana," Rachel says, quietly. "This is the real me. Crazed."

Santana stands. "I was just thinking this is probably a more interesting wedding breakfast than most. One bride is in a high energy mode, while the other is abnormally quiet. Yet a festive atmosphere surrounds the room. Maybe it's the maid of honor, smiling as she dies from drinking boiled orange juice."

"I would laugh," Rachel says, ignoring Quinn's chuckles. "If it wasn't so damn tragic."

"It's fine, Rach," Quinn offers. "You're allowed to be a little nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Rachel replies. "It just the more I think about it, the more it doesn't make any sense. We're so different You love bacon. I'm vegan. _And_ you refuse to try facon."

"Because the name alone is reason enough to refuse," Quinn tells her. "It's fine. I'll just continue to eat it when you're not around."

Rachel is pacing slightly now and doesn't seem to hear Quinn's reply. "I'm Jewish. You're Catholic. And neither the two shall mix. What are we going to do about Chanukah and Christmas?"

"The same thing we've done for the past ten years, Rach. We'll celebrate both. It's worked out well so far."

"Or you could celebrate neither," Santana adds.

"Must you be so not helpful, Santana?" Rachel asks, before turning to a smiling Quinn. "WHAT ARE YOU SO DAMN HAPPY ABOUT?"

"You."

"Why are we doing this?" Rachel ponders. "It's slightly insane to have this enormous wedding after all these years. Quinn, it's embarrassing. People are going to think I'm pregnant.

"I'm pretty sure they won't," Quinn replies.

"Impressive Q," Santana snickers. "You really do have mad skills in the bedroom."

"We need to leave soon," Quinn continues. "We're late."

"I can't believe I'm freaking out like this," Rachel says. "This is just perfect. Three _years_ with a psychologist and yet here I am, just as neurotic."

"I'd expect nothing less," Santana snarks.

"Rachel, I'm serious," Quinn says. "We really are very late. And you know how you hate tardiness."

"If I have no intention of going," Rachel replies. "Is it still tardiness?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're going," Quinn assures her.

"Oh, you're going to drag me to the alter?" Rachel asks. She sits at the table again and takes a drink of her coffee. The mug is sitting on a saucer and as Rachel drinks, she notices something that was under the mug. She grimaces and hands it to Santana.

Accepting it, Santana sees a post it stuck to the saucer. "To whoever reads this, I love you," she reads out loud. She looks around. "Thank you. I love you too."

"Thank _her_, the phantom," Rachel snaps, pointing to Quinn. "She leaves notes like that all over the place. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PUT UP WITH ALL THIS SWEETNESS, QUINN? NO ONE ALIVE CAN STAND ALL THAT EVERLASTING AFFECTION!"

Quinn just smiles back as Santana makes a gagging noise and makes sure she hasn't lost her hearing.

"Now that you've got that out of your system, are you ready to go?" Quinn asks.

"I'm not sure I can do it Quinn," Rachel replies. "I've never seen a good marriage, not one."

"What about your dads?"

"Daddy died nine years ago," Rachel says. "It doesn't count."

"Almost twenty years of marriage doesn't count?"

"People _can_ get divorced after twenty years of marriage, Quinn."

"Rachel," Quinn sighs. "You're just seeing what you want to see."

"Or I see the truth and you're living in a fantasy."

"Who would have thought that be the case?" Santana mutters.

"Nothing is going to change," Quinn persists.

"Then why are we even bothering?" Rachel questions.

"Cheaper insurance," Santana quips.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Rachel continues. "I just can't do it. Maybe I just don't love you enough. But I can't go through with it."

There's silence as Santana just stares at Rachel. Quinn rubs her temples. She turns to her maid of honor.

"Santana, could you…_call_ and…_explain_, please?" she asks, before exiting the apartment.

The silence continues as Santana stares after Quinn and Rachel avoids Santana's gaze.

"What the hell, Berry?" Santana asks, finally. "You don't _love_ her enough? I never would have pegged you as being such a stone cold bitch."

"I'm sorry, Santana," Rachel replies. "But if I'm not ready, I'm not ready."

"Not ready? You've been together for over a decade. How can you not be ready?"

"Readiness isn't based on length of time. It's an emotional response."

"You're an emotional response."

"Really Santana," Rachel says. "That makes no sense."

"Neither do you," Santana replies. "Chase after her."

"I can't. Besides, what good would it do?"

"What good would it do? What _good_ would it do?" Santana is incredulous. "Well, someone's got to do something."

"Says who?" Rachel asks.

"Well, _I_ have to do something." She eyes Rachel thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe I could just do this," Santana says finally.

Rachel is slumped in her chair. Santana stalks over and straddles her. She ignores the gasp of surprise and leans in for a kiss. It isn't tentative at all. It's force and pressure and when Rachel opens her mouth to protest, she slips her tongue inside. And suddenly Rachel isn't protesting anymore, she's kissing back. It's all teeth and tongue and Santana vaguely wonders if Rachel is always such a powder keg.

And then just as suddenly, Santana is on her ass on the floor. She looks up at Rachel.

"What the hell was that?"

"I just figured since you're not getting married today, because you apparently don't love her enough, that a little something on the side would be welcome."

"Quinn is your best friend," Rachel snaps. "Why would you kiss her fiancé?"

"Former fiancé," Santana corrects. "And you kissed back. Besides, it's simple math. You're hot. I'm smoking hot. Why not?"

"No," Rachel says, standing. "I love Quinn. We're getting married today. _This_ never happened."

Still on the floor, Santana smirks at Rachel.

"I told you I was a bit crazed," Rachel continues. "Just a case of cold feet. Happens to a lot of people, I suppose." She pulls out her cell phone and begins dialing. "It shouldn't be too difficult to track her down. Will you call and tell them we'll be there soon?"

Santana nods.

"I'm getting married today!" Rachel exclaims before taking off after Quinn.

Grinning, Santana stands and brushes herself off.

"I _knew_ that would work."

Pulling out her cell phone, Santana exits the apartment, knowing that she'll soon see Quinn and Rachel declaring their love to each other in front of all their friends and family, all thanks to her.

All she can think is, it took them long enough.


End file.
